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Victor was taken aback at the hard edge in the most stoic marquess. She felt it in the tremble of the dagger. “I let her go and you let me go. Or else I stab her now and get revenge if nothing else.”

A faint noise came from the shadows of the balcony, somewhere behind an urn of forsythia branches. Victor tensed, glancing toward it.

It was all it took.

One moment for everything to change.

Keir surged forward as Sybil made herself go limp. Unbalanced, Victor tried to steady her, which was an impossible feat with Keir snatching her away at the same time. He tucked her behind his body while plowing his enormous fist in Victor’s face. There was a loud crack and a howl of pain. He staggered back, holding his nose, blood pooling between his fingers.

Keir turned to Sybil, ripping off his cravat and pressing it to her puncture wound. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Victor snarled and lunged, dagger still in his grip.

He never reached them.

Sophie flew out from behind the urn of yellow flowers and punched him right on his already broken nose. His head snapped and he hit the railing.

“That’s more than enough,” Keir said. A jab to Victor’s stomach sent him over the railing. There was a thump, a groan. Keir looked over the side. “He’s not dead,” he grumbled, clearly put out.

Had she ever really thought Keir was indifferent to her? Cared for nothing but his estate and his duties? It seemed improbable to her now. Anyone with eyeballs could see that he was a mess of feelings and fears and love. For her.

She threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“Here now.” He sounded vaguely alarmed. “You’re all right.”

“I know.”

They turned to Sophie, who was cradling her sore hand and beaming. “I snuck in,” she said, defiantly.

“I’m so glad I have spent so much money on chaperones,” Keir muttered. “Where did you learn to plant a facer like that?”

“Sybil taught me.” She hovered, still unsure if she would be scolded.

“I taught you to use the heel of your hand,” Sybil said. “But thank you, Sophie.”

Keir paused, then sighed. Then he pulled his sister into a hug. Her eyes widened, softened. “My hand hurts,” she muttered into his arm.

“We’ll get you some ice. And a doctor for Sybil.”

Sybil waved that off. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Both Montgomery siblings turned hard green gazes on her at the same time. She nearly took a prudent step back. “You are seeing a doctor,” they declared in unison.

She raised her hands placatingly. “What do we do about Victor?”

“He’s not going anywhere with that broken leg.”

“You broke his leg?”

“The stone pathway broke his leg.” He shrugged. So did Sophie. The Montgomery ruthlessness was clearly an inherited business. “Gallagher will see to him.”

“And the doctor,” Sybil insisted.

Keir was decidedly disgruntled at that. “Fine. But if he so much as looks in your direction again, I’m breaking the other leg.”

“That seems fair.”